


Juugoya Crisis

by athena_crikey



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Heist, Reveals, wing!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 18:05:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15078701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: Now that the white wings belong to Kaitou Kid, they can never belong to Kuroba Kaito.





	Juugoya Crisis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohsweetcrepes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohsweetcrepes/gifts).



> Gift!fic for [ohsweetcrepes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohsweetcrepes/). Thanks for coming to visit!
> 
> Mildly prompted by ED 37.

He stands on the rooftop overlooking the streaming corridors of light below, watching the flow of white lights on one side of the street, red on the other. Rush hour was over hours ago, but it’s always busy in Tokyo; the city never sleeps. 

Nor does Kaitou Kid, poised for another successful heist. Tonight’s jewel is the Eagle’s Eye, a yellow diamond from South Africa on exhibit in Ginza Mitsukoshi. 

He unfurls his wings, takes a brief, sharp joy in the sensation of wind ripping through the feathers, then launches himself off the roof. 

Down below, flashbulbs burst into life capturing the indelible image: white wings against a black sky.

  
***

When Kaitou Kid first appeared 20 years ago, the brazen heists of a man willing to use not just cunning and wit but also his wings to further his thefts had outraged the public. His white wings, practically unheard-of in the Japanese population, had further provoked vitriolic criticism of both his practices and his nature. But the splendour of his performances, lavish in every detail, had slowly won over the public. Eventually even the mass media had conceded defeat; these days Kid’s white wings were no longer a topic of derision but of praise, his aesthetic perfectly tailored around them.

Eight hours after the heist, Kaito sits in his pyjamas shovelling down furikake-topped rice while watching the media coverage. Beside him on the table is the Eagle’s Eye, the diamond glinting gently in the morning light streaming in through the window. 

The footage repeats his daring swoop over Ginza, landing precariously but with perfect aplomb on the Mitsukoshi building’s fourth floor window ledge. Wings folding into nothingness, on the screen he steps forward into the building to waltz past the police guard and take the jewel. 

The Moonlit Thief, they call him and, increasingly, the White-Winged Thief. It’s an ironic title given his last name, but one he thinks his father would be proud of. It was the elder Kuroba who lived in the public eye as a master magician without ever once showing his wings – they belonged only to the night, only to Kaitou Kid – lest he bring down society’s derision on himself and his family. 

The problem is, now that the white wings belong to Kaitou Kid, they can never belong to Kuroba Kaito.

  
***

“Kai-to!”

He turns on his heels, rubber soles scuffing on the sidewalk, to see Aoko hurrying up behind him. She has the same thin, pinched-between-the-eyebrows look that she always does after Kid heists; she’s swinging her school briefcase with violence. 

“That Kid,” she fumes, sure enough, as soon as he’s within earshot. “Dad was planning the security on that diamond for _weeks_! And then _he_ just swoops in like a – a –”

“An eagle?” suggests Kaito, grinning. She gives him an unimpressed look.

“Like a great big _vulture_ and takes it. Why? He always returns them – is he just doing it to mock the police?”

“He’s pretty famous,” points out Kaito. “And he’s got as much media attention as he wants. It’s nothing to sneeze at.”

“What good is that to him? No one knows who he is. ‘The White-Winged Thief’ indeed!”

Kaito shrugs. “Fame is fame.” He alone knows the true motive behind Kid’s resurrection. The Eagle’s Eye wasn’t Pandora, didn’t gleam scarlet in the moonlight. Just another multi-million dollar dud. Aoko’s right; he’ll return it to its owners, just like he has with the rest of the legitimate stones. And he’ll be no closer to unmasking the men who killed his father. 

For an instant that pain kneads at his heart like a cat’s claws. But that’s only on the inside – on the outside, as always, is his poker face. 

“Never has anyone deserved it less,” retorts Aoko, chin jutted out in affirmation. 

“You don’t think his heists are spectacular? He’s a master magician, Aoko!” 

Aoko shakes her head. “All I see is a thief.”

  
***

There’s a fight going on in the schoolyard when they arrive, two boys from a neighbouring private school taking umbrage at a recent win by Ekoda High in the regional kendo tournament. Punches are flying, shoes scoring lines in the earth of the playing field as the three-man kendo team defends its honour. There will be teachers here any minute but at the moment the fray is unpoliced, the fight all adrenaline and testosterone.

Kaito steps subtly in front of Aoko, keeping an eye on the proceedings. Her fingers curl against his shoulder, touch light as the brush of a butterfly. 

On the field one of the boys raises a fist and, in time with his punch, unfurls his wings. Long black feathers stream into being, knitting instantaneously into the flesh and bone of his back through the long slit in the back of his jacket. He beats them to throw himself forward and lands a hard blow. With that line crossed the rest of the boys follow suit, and soon feathers are falling like raindrops as hands tear at wings and sharp pinion feathers snap with bruising force over tender skin. 

Far off a whistle sounds, then another – the student guidance teachers are running over with the PE teachers, shouting and blowing on their gym whistles. The two interlopers try to tear themselves away but are tackled by other students, and then the teachers have arrived and are separating the combatants. The boys are panting, faces bruised and bloody, their knuckles raw. The ground is littered with black feathers. 

The teachers stand over them ranting and railing while the boys stand silent, heads bowed. One by one they furl their wings, the wide jet-black forms disappearing into the ether, and are then frogmarched back towards the school. 

Behind him, Aoko withdraws her hand from his shoulder. He turns to look at her, sees alarm in her face but not fear. 

“Never a dull day, huh?” he asks, grinning. She rolls her eyes, but relaxes. She swings her briefcase up onto her shoulder, and nudges him forward. 

“Let’s go. We’re going to be late.

  
***

Like more than 99% of Japan’s population, Aoko’s wings are black – not the suffocating darkness of a windowless cellar, but the warmer tone of a midsummer’s night. They’re fine, slender things; Kaito’s only seen them a couple of times when she was at her most furious and they unfurled like a flag signalling her rage. It’s always been in the classroom; school is after all a melting pot, and sometimes the pressure that causes results in sharp bursts of anger. It’s happened to almost everyone. With the obvious exception of Kaito.

In today’s lessons he plays with his pencil, balancing it on his nose until Aoko reaches over and smacks his shoulder, after which he uses it to draw henohenomohejis in the margins of his notebook. Aoko takes copious notes as always. He doesn’t, because in fact he is already several weeks ahead of the curriculum. Being a phantom thief brings with it the dangers of unpredictable work hours that could easily impact homework – he has no choice but to be ahead on his schoolwork. The scary thing is that Aoko, who is smart and driven but doesn’t have the same rationale to overachieve he does, is neck-and-neck with him.

“Throughout history, ruling families have often been associated with the divine,” drones the history teacher, writing barely-legible notes on the blackboard while Kaito stares dully out the window. “The emperors of China with their uncut nails signalling their wealth and stature, the pharaohs of Egypt who married brothers and sisters to maintain blood purity, and of course the Japanese royal family who alone keep their wings unfurled at all times.”

Privately, Kaito thinks it must make taking a shit hellish, not to mention the obvious question of their sex lives. There are modern feather-fetishes, of course, but even they generally concede the defeat of eroticism to functionality. Wings are romantic, but they’re also unwieldly as hell. 

Aoko kicks him. He blinks, looking over her. 

“I’m not lending you my notes,” she hisses, looking pointedly at his notebook – the margins full of doodles, the centres blank. 

“ _Ahouko_ , no one asked you to!” But, grumbling, he begins taking notes. Just for the look of the thing.

  
***

A kaitou’s success comes from intense, perfectionist planning. The day after Kaito’s last heist, he’s already planning his next.

Suzuki Jiroukichi is importing a jewel to tempt him with in yet another attempt to capture him – one that’s bound, as always, to fail. 

Kaito likes the Suzuki Advisor for his unwavering tenacity in the face of crushing defeat, but more still for his recognition of Edogawa Conan’s skills. The little detective – in reality, not so little – is the only one who’s managed to make his thefts challenging. 

So when he begins his planning to take the Dragon’s Heart, he does so in earnest. 

The jewel comes originally from Burma and spent time being shuttled around Europe, exchanged for money and blood. It’s a twenty-five carat ruby, currently set in a ring; it would be a fitting crown jewel for any nation. But it now belongs to the Japanese billionaires, the Suzukis. 

The Suzuki Museum is well-known to Kaito; it’s been the setting for many of his previous triumphs over the Suzuki Advisor. It will be no problem to dig out the blueprints and begin planning. 

This will be a fun one.

  
***

In between his planning for the heist, he still manages to keep up his usual schedule of activities – school, the ice cream parlour with Aoko and Keiko, studying with Aoko, being dragged to Ginza by his mother to carry her shopping bags. Time ticks away as his plans solidify.

  
***

The museum’s sprawling design and its many windows – 52, in fact – provide ample opportunities for ingress and egress. Even with the grounds crawling with police the possibilities are hardly hampered.

The jewel is on the second floor in the Sunset gallery, a room whose overall theme is painting and textiles of deep orange and red hues. The Dragon’s Heart fits right in, nestled on its bed of cream silk inside a box of protective glass. The room is in the centre of the museum overlooking an expansive pond; a swan-shaped fountain in the centre spouts a steady stream of water that burbles melodically. 

There will be police on the roof, but a time-activated sleeping gas bomb will take care of them. After that, all that will be left is to soar out the window to safety. He gets his advanced prep done the week before, carefully rigging his tricks and leaving them well-disguised as he shimmies down a drainpipe to make a clean get-away.

  
***

On the advertised night Kid flows into the museum with the rest of the visitors, all of whom have come to see him rather than the jewel. There are posters for the exhibit all over town, from Shinjuku to Shibuya, but it only took him one note to draw in a larger crowd than they ever could. Kid’s fans wash into the large foyer in a wave, hurrying up the stairs to the second-floor room where the Dragon’s Heart sits.

In one corner he catches sight of Advisor Suzuki along with Nakamori, the two of them fuming at the popularity of the thief. Closer to the pedestal holding the ruby stands Edogawa Conan, peering thoughtfully into the crowd. Kid grins and slips his hand into his pocket. 

The first button he presses sets off the sleeping gas on the roof; he needs to take out the men there before they become alerted to his presence. 

The second kills the indoor lights. The third, activated as he hops onto the top of the Dragon’s Heart’s display case and sheds his disguise, fires up a spotlight. He tilts the brim of his hat to keep himself from being blinded, even as the crowd crows his name excitedly. In the midst of the din he can hear Nakamori’s bellow, and the Suzuki Advisor’s gruff cry. Tapping his heel on the display case enables the sonic drill he built into it to shatter the glass; as it breaks beneath him he falls one foot through the air to land kneeling on the soft silk and reaches down to pick up the ring. 

Before him, Edogawa Conan suddenly emerges through the crowd, his trick watch already popped open. Kid gives him a lazy wave, the ring secured on his middle finger over his white glove. Then he presses the final button.

Outside, the thin line of explosives he placed around the window frame blows, sending the frame toppling out of the window and onto the cordoned-off gravel below; as he stands he hears it shatter. 

“Kid!” shouts Conan, his voice mingling with dozens of others. Kid flashes him a smile; then he’s leaping backwards, vaulting blindly out the window and unfurling his wings. They bloom into being with a white radiance, lit by the spotlights outside. Behind him Conan leaps up onto the now-abandoned pedestal and follows, his own tiny dark wings spurting from his back. 

Children can’t fly. Their wings are underdeveloped; it’s not until the teenage years that they grow strong enough to support the body’s full weight. 

For an instant, it seems his determination might almost be enough. Flapping frantically, he catches his fingers on the edge of Kid’s cape. Then he’s falling, fingers slipping away, to land with a splash in the pond. 

Kid glances over his shoulder in time to see the little detective surface, sopping wet and furious. Then, turning sharply on the wing, he’s gone.

  
***

Although it’s a booming city, even Tokyo can’t consistently provide new fantastic jewels for Kid to steal. There are lulls, and he falls into one after the theft of the Dragon’s Heart. Even with his mother and Jii-san diligently reading the newspapers and scanning the online news, nothing new comes in. It’s the depths of summer holidays, the city is hot and sticky, and he just wants to get out of the noise and the heat and go somewhere cool.

Surprisingly, his wish is granted by Aoko, who has secured a trip to Hakodate, Hokkaido. She’s going with Nakamori to ride the new Hokkaido Shinkansen, and spend a few days in northern Japan – 3 days two nights. Kaito jumps at the invitation.

In no time they’re speeding north up the spine of Japan, scenery breezing past outside the window. Nakamori sleeps while Kaito and Aoko play cards – Kaito wins, up until the point where Aoko catches him with an ace up his sleeve. 

They arrive in the early afternoon, the train coming into the port city from the south. The water is sparkling blue, the sky overcast. Hakodate is a small city, not the sprawling metropolis of Tokyo, nestled between mountains and the sea. The temperature is a cool 22 degrees; with the breeze coming off the bay they wear light sweaters after the blazing heat of Tokyo. It’s rare to see Nakamori out of his tweed suit; on holiday he wears slacks and a short-sleeved polo with a sweater over his shoulders. 

They head to their hotel to drop off their baggage, then decide to do some sightseeing in the town. Aoko’s got a guidebook, and she leads the charge – it means the day will be spent mostly shopping, but Kaito doesn’t really mind. Aoko’s a lot less pushy about shopping than his mother.

  
***

That afternoon it starts raining; the weather forecast calls for heavy thunderstorms overnight. They return to the hotel in a cab and eat in, spending the evening watching movies and playing the board games the hotel has on offer. Nakamori, four beers in, is easily beaten; Aoko who is still watchful after the card-sharping on the train, is a tougher opponent. They go to bed late, to the sounds of the rain lashing down on the windows.

  
***

The next day dawns clear. Today, Aoko declares, is for tourist activities – the morning market, Goryoukaku fort, lunch at a famous squid restaurant, then more shopping in the afternoon. It’s a long day, but even Nakamori gets into it; Kaito’s mildly surprised by how much fun the three of them have.

“The night scene from Mt Hakodate is supposed to be beautiful,” Aoko declares that evening over dinner – Hakodate ramen. It’s still clear outside, the day warmer than yesterday, and outside the window families and individual pedestrians are wandering on the sidewalk, enjoying the evening. 

“Mountain-climbing?” asks Nakamori in an exhausted tone. 

“There’s a cable-car,” says Aoko, looking in her book. 

“I’d rather go back to the hotel and watch movies,” says Nakamori. _Meaning drink beer_ , surmises Kaito. From Aoko’s narrowed eyebrows, they’re on the same wavelength. But she doesn’t object.

“Fine. Kaito and I can go.”

“Me?!” He’s not as exhausted as Nakamori looks, but it has been a long day of walking. He too wouldn’t mind spending the evening watching movies – he gets more than enough exercise as Kaito Kid. 

She nods. “It’s no fun going alone.”

“Aokoooo,” he whines. She ignores him.

“Good. It’s decided!” She puts down the guidebook and slurps up more of her ramen.

  
***

They split up outside the restaurant, Nakamori returning to the hotel with the shopping bags and the two of them heading up the mountain. Kaito’s resigned to it now – when Aoko puts her mind to something, there’s no changing it. He wonders if that isn’t part of the reason she’s never budged on her grudge against Kid. But that’s wishful thinking: Aoko has more than enough reasons to hate the White-Winged Thief. After all, he’s effectively stolen the only parent she has left.

They reach the foot of the mountain on the bus, and then take the cable-car up as dusk falls. It winds its way slowly up to the top of the mountain, Aoko standing at the back staring out at the receding town below. “It looks so small!” she says, snapping a picture with her phone. 

The night lights aren’t on yet – it will be another half an hour before they start, he judges. At least there will be a moon tonight, nearly full. 

At the top of the mountain they disembark and walk around the large sight-seeing area there. There are paths to descend the mountain by foot or on bike; they pick one to do a little hiking before the night falls in earnest. 

“Hakodate’s night view is supposed to be equal to that of Hong Kong,” Aoko says, reading out of the guidebook again as they walk along. The path they’re on is dirt and mud, and while it’s relatively flat the mountain slope on either side is quite steep.

“Watch where you’re going, will you? What will your Dad say if you fall off the mountain?”

She snaps the book shut, turning to glare at him. “I’m not going to fall off the mountain. The path is totally straight.” She does, however, tuck away the book in her purse. 

“Yeah, for a mountain goat.” It is in fact not very treacherous, although up ahead there’s a thin wooden bridge over a deep gully – just a board, really, without railings. Up here in the shade the earth is still damp from last night’s soaking, the trail muddy. 

Aoko smiles. 

“What?”

“Usually it’s me who worries,” she says. 

He looks away, rubbing absently at his cheek. “Yeah, well. Someone with brains had to be in charge, I guess.”

“Kaito!” She smacks at his arm as she steps out onto the thin wooden board. 

Under her weight it shifts, the earth on either side crumbling. Kaito snaps forward, reaching out to grab her even as she falls away from him. His fingers intertwine with hers, her weight pulling him down. Her face is frozen in shock, but even then she reacts instinctively: her dark wings bloom to life behind her. 

As do his. 

White feathers fill the night sky, soft and almost dove-grey in the falling dark. He doesn’t let go of her hand, the two of them gliding down to land on a different path far below. As soon as his feet touch the ground he dispels his wings, but it’s too late. Far too late. 

Aoko is staring at him silently, her own wings folded gently behind her. “Kaito… you… are you? You are, aren’t you? Kaitou Kid.” She says it as though piecing together the parts of a mathematical equation, unavoidable, inexorable. 

“Because my wings are white?” he asks, bitterly. 

“Because you’re you. A magician, a showman, an acrobat. You convinced me you weren’t him, that time at Tropical Land. But that was a trick too, wasn’t it? Everything you do is a trick – why? _Why_?” she demands, stepping forward and grabbing his sleeve. 

Kaito looks her square in the eye, unmoving. “I inherited it. Like I inherited these wings. From my father.”

“Your father?”

“He was a magician, a showman, an acrobat too. And as Kaitou Kid, he got too close to the truth of a conspiracy – one I haven’t been able to crack. So he was killed. I’m the only one who can find out why – and put an end to it.”

“The police,” starts Aoko, frowning.

“The police haven’t done anything for him in 10 years. It’s my turn now.”

“And for that…”

He turns away. “For the sake of avenging my father, I stole yours. I don’t expect you to forgive me. But if you expose me –”

“ _Bakaito_!” She smacks him hard in the chest, nearly causing him to fall off the path. 

“Oi!” He looks back to her to find her tearing up, her expression lost between pain and fury. 

“You should have told me! From the start, right away! What good is keeping a secret like that?”

“But you hate Kaitou Kid,” he says, with a feeling like a needle slicing into his heart. 

She forces a smile; it’s wobbly and weak, but it’s honest. “But not Kuroba Kaito.” She takes a step closer, laying a hand on his arm. “For the sake of your father, I can keep a secret. On one condition?”

He swallows. “What?”

“When this is all over – when you’ve done what you need to do – Kaitou Kid retires. For good.”

Kaito nods. “Promise.” From the start, after all, he had never intended anything else.

  
***

They walk slowly back up to the top of the mountain; the moon rises over the water to illuminate their course. By the time they get back it’s completely dark, the lights of the town twinkling like stars below. The long white line of moonlight lies across the water like a carpet.

“It is beautiful,” he says at last, staring down at it. 

Aoko turns to look at him, smiling gently. “I’m glad we came.” She slips her hand into his. He squeezes it back. 

“So am I.”

END


End file.
